


The Faerie Thrall

by flawedamythyst



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Watson's mother's family come back into his life, all Watson's work to keep that side of his heritage a secret from Holmes starts to unravel.</p><p>Faerie AU. Please don't let that put you off.</p><p>Betaed by Veronamay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Faerie Thrall

It is a point of pride that I was able to keep my true nature hidden from Holmes for as long as I did, despite his seemingly all-knowing gaze. That there were many factors involved, most of which I did not have control over, does not diminish my pride. The times that I have seen Holmes miss a truth this large about someone have been extremely rare, and have never occurred with someone whom he knows even a fraction as well as he knows me.

Ever since I was a young man, I have been repressing any outward sign that I am anything more than the most typical kind of English gentleman, helped in no small part by the mannerisms and habits that almost every Army officer inevitably acquires. As skills of mimicry are part of my heritage, however, I do not think I can claim too much credit for being able to perfectly imitate the kind of man that I longed to be in truth. Others of my kind have successfully passed as far more obscure and outlandish things, often merely for the fun of it and without the years of immersion in the role that I had by the time I met Holmes.

Then, also, there is the fact that Holmes is a deeply logical and practical man. He shares the same scepticism that most men of his generation and class have for tales of the supernatural. If he ever noticed anything out-of-the-ordinary about me, he most likely either dismissed it or assumed that there was a mundane reason for it. It is highly unlikely that a man who had discarded information about the solar system because of its irrelevance to his life would have retained enough folklore to put together my general avoidance of iron with the way that Mrs. Hudson's plants always grew taller and faster than those of her neighbours, particularly if I spoke a few words to them every so often. That I never mentioned my family was even less notable – Holmes himself never offered any details of his family unless he had little other choice. It was an unspoken agreement between us that our childhoods should remain strictly in the unopened annals of history.

For a good few years, I immersed myself in the twin roles of doctor and detective's assistant so successfully that I was able to largely forget the otherworldly aspects of my nature, aspects which the iron and stone of London had already gone a long way to suppress. I was able to pretend to myself that my mother's heritage would not affect my life in anything more than the most minor of ways, but the delusion was not to last. Sooner or later we all have to admit to ourselves who we truly are.

It was a bright April morning in 1886 and the sun was more than welcome, even if it was not yet strong enough to cast the lingering chill from the air. Holmes and I had taken a short walk after breakfast in order to enjoy it, accomplishing a few minor errands and then ambling back to Baker Street through Regent's Park.

After a winter that had been filled with enough snow and ice to keep any sensible man indoors, walking on the grass with trees soaring over my head was extremely agreeable. I might have opted to live in the midst of the city, but I could not wholly deny the part of me that would always long for green vales and leafy woods.

As we walked I felt an unexpectedly sharp twinge from the scar on my leg; the one that had been made by an ancient iron blade and consequently caused me far more long-term difficulty than the bullet wound in my shoulder. Iron lingers in the flesh of my mother's kind, poisoning the part of their nature that can defy the laws which science considers immutable. For my wound to twinge in such a way, there had to be some aspect of her kin near-by, calling to her blood in me.

I looked about and was greatly surprised to see a circle of darkened grass set on the lawn in front of us. I had never seen such a thing in any London park – or, indeed, within any human settlement larger than a few houses. My kin have always kept as far from civilisation as is possible on this small and rather crowded island. I knew that if they had placed a Ring here, so close to where I lived, then it was intended as a sign to me.

Holmes, who had been analysing the orchestral performance that we had seen the night before, was set to march right over the thing so I reached out for his arm to stop him. 

“Don't, Holmes.”

Holmes stopped, more from surprise than anything else, and then glanced from me to where my gaze was resting.

“Surely you are not superstitious, Watson,” he said in an incredulous voice.

There was no way to explain myself. He was far too coldly logical for me to insist that there was more to some superstitions than met the eye. I settled for saying, “I would prefer if we went around.”

His eyes went from me to the circle again and he raised an amused eyebrow. For a terrible moment I thought his streak of contrariness would bring him to attempt to cross it, and I had visions of him disappearing to the other realm, where I would have to go through all sorts of hassle in order to rescue him. If I even could - there have been very few occasions when such a rescue has been successful, and I could not be entirely sure that my knowledge of the laws and customs of the realm would help me in such an endeavour.

“Please, Holmes,” I said. “It will not put you out to go around, and it would mean much to me.”

Holmes gave me a perplexed look but moved to do as I asked and I let myself relax. 

“You do constantly manage to surprise me, Watson,” he said, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that this evidence of a belief in superstitions, which he no doubt considered the purview of weak-minded country folk, was unwelcome.

“It's a childhood habit,” I said, moving to avoid the Ring myself as I caught up with him. “The things we learn at our mother's knees are hard to set aside.”

Holmes made a humming sound that implied he did not agree, but after a moment or two, he picked up where he had left off on the topic of the technical accuracy and emotional range of the first violins. I was no longer listening, however. My mind was racing through the possibilities of what the Ring could mean, and coming to the unavoidable conclusion that the period I had spent managing to avoid my mother's family was at an end. Steps would have to be taken to protect the life I had created for myself, in case they appeared and demanded what they had always wanted from me.

When we returned home, Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to bring tea up for us. I asked her to pour me a cup with a great deal of milk before she left us. “More milk than tea, if you can manage it.”

She gave me a perplexed look that Holmes echoed – both of them knew my habits well enough to know that I avoided milk under almost all circumstances, but she did as I asked.

There are certain laws so engrained in the blood I gained from my mother that to defy them is impossible. As I drank the cup of extremely milky tea, I felt one of them settle into my bones, locking into place a contract between Mrs. Hudson and myself that went beyond those of hospitality and residency which already existed between us. I could only hope it would be enough to help me protect my home if there were an incursion.

After the tea, I set off on my round, checking in on the handful of patients I had at that point in my career, when I was far more likely to be chasing after a criminal than diagnosing an illness. I left Holmes creating some stink with his chemistry equipment and hoped I would return to find him still so engaged. 

I was barely halfway through my round when I felt a distinct pull in the core of my being, in the part of me that was always aware of more than it should be and which I had newly tied to Baker Street through Mrs. Hudson and her milk. Someone had entered there, someone who had been invited in but who had not revealed their true name or nature.

I rushed through my visit to Mrs. Thornton in a truly unprofessional manner and hurried home as fast as I could. I was too late, of course. When I arrived, Holmes was already bidding the interloper goodbye.

“You may rest assured that I will do everything in my power to find her,” he was saying as I came in through the door to find that it was, of course, the very last of my kin that I should ever want to see in my home.

Robin turned to me with a wide grin and I knew that I was too late to prevent whatever mischief he had come to set in place. 

“Well met, John,” he greeted me, and I saw Holmes's surprise at the informal greeting.

“Robin,” I returned with rather less enthusiasm. “What brings you here? It's a long way from your usual haunts.”

“Business,” said Robin with a wink, which meant nothing. The business of a fellow like Robin is whatever he thinks will amuse him most.

“I was not aware that you knew Watson,” said Holmes, his eyes flicking between us as if trying to decode every tiny detail of our interaction.

“He's the reason I came to you,” said Robin. “We are cousins, in a roundabout way. I thought it would be best to keep this matter within the family.”

“What matter?” I asked, wishing there was some way to just expel Robin from the building. It was too late now that he had been invited in and made welcome. And besides, I had to find out what he had said to Holmes and, more crucially, what Holmes had said to him.

“Sebille has disappeared,” Robin informed me.

That gave me pause for a moment, but not enough to change my desire for him to leave and never return.

“You are more than capable of finding her without an agent,” I said. Robin could search the whole countryside in just one night, if he put his mind to it. No mortal would be able to find Sebille before him, not even a mortal like Holmes.

“She's being hidden from us,” said Robin. “We believe someone has taken her.”

I let out a sigh. I had always liked Sebille, as much as I liked any of my mother's family, and I wouldn't have wished any form of captivity on her but that did not mean I wanted Holmes to get involved. Mortals who became entangled in Robin's affairs always ended up regretting it.

“Find someone else,” I suggested.

“I have already agreed to take the case,” said Holmes. “Watson, why on earth shouldn't I? Surely you want her to be found?”

“We have made a deal,” added Robin, giving me glee-filled grin that told me too much about how much Holmes must have agreed to without realising it.

I felt my jaw tighten and forced myself to relax it, although I knew Holmes would have already noted the reaction. I nodded my acceptance of the inevitable. “Then I shall do all I can to help Holmes uphold his side of it,” I said, as a warning.

Robin laughed. “I'd expect nothing less,” he said. “Come on, walk me out, cousin.”

“If you wait a brief moment, we will be ready to depart and we would be able to catch the same train,” said Holmes.

“Oh, I can't abide trains,” said Robin. “I'll be travelling a different way. I'm sure I shall see you soon enough.” He bowed extravagantly low, as if he were an Elizabethan courtier, and then clattered off down the stairs. I followed behind as quickly as I could.

I waited until we were far enough away from the sitting room for Holmes not to overhear before I turned on Robin. “What deal have you made?” I asked.

He just laughed in his usual merry manner, and continued down the stairs. “Ask your friend,” he said.

“Would he know the full extent of it if I did?” I returned.

“Of course not,” said Robin. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“Tell me,” I insisted as we reached the hallway. I searched for something that might sway him to confide in me and could only come up with, “I am family, after all.”

Robin tweaked my moustache, which I found intensely irritating. No doubt that was why he did it. “Always so serious, John,” he said. “Very well, I shall tell you, but it's nothing more than what a mortal might have concluded with him. In exchange for him finding Sebille, I shall pay him a fee.”

“Gold?” I asked sceptically, thinking of all the tales I had heard of Robin's disappearing payments, but in truth I was relieved. I knew Holmes well enough to know that if the money he had been promised disappeared, he would be not be greatly put out. It was the problem he relished, not the payment.

“I did offer him gold, but he said he would prefer a cheque,” said Robin. He grinned. “A cheque! So modern. Gold used to be good enough for everyone.”

“I'm sure you can play the same tricks with a cheque as you do with gold,” I said.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he said. “But I have decided I won't in this case. It wouldn't do for me not to keep my side of the bargain, with you here to whisper in your dear friend's ear that being owed a debt by someone like me could be used in all sorts of ways.”

I felt my eyes narrow. Holmes would find Sebille, and in exchange Robin would actually pay him? No deal he had ever made was that simple. “What haven't you mentioned?”

Robin kept grinning. “Oh, so many things,” he said, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole world and wiggling his fingers. “I haven't mentioned anvils or bees or candle-wax or daffodils or-” He began to hop in time with his words, and I cut in hurriedly to avoid a full recitation.

“About this deal. There must be more to it than you paying Holmes when he finds Sebille.”

“If,” corrected Robin. “If he finds her.”

“Oh,” I said with a sickening realisation. “And if he doesn't find her?”

Robin bounced with joy, kicking his legs up in a jig. “Then he'll come with me and take her place!”

I stared at him with horror. “He would never have agreed to that,” I managed after a moment.

“He thought it was a joke,” said Robin. “These mortals will agree to anything if they think it is merely in jest. The King has taken a liking to him, you know – the Queen wants Sebille brought home, but I think the King would be happier with a new form of entertainment. Do you think your Mr. Holmes would enjoy being the Court's jester?”

He would hate it, if in his right mind, but I knew the King well enough to know that it was unlikely he would be. Befuddling mortals into thinking they were happy was child's play for him. 

“And which are you working for today?” I asked. Robin would be a powerful ally if he wanted to help the Queen regain her lost companion, or a dangerous enemy if he wanted to win the King's favour by bringing him a new mortal to toy with.

Robin shrugged. “Neither. Both. Whichever suits my mood.” He smirked at me. “Oh, John, you thought you could hide from us. You ran off to the desert mountains where we hate to go and then buried yourself here, amongst all this iron, but you can't hide from who you are.” He patted my cheek and then pulled at my moustache again. I ducked my head away with a glare. 

“You're going to play my game this time,” he said with a great deal of satisfaction. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I should have been less emphatic when I'd rejected my mother's family and their lifestyle in my youth, but I suspect he would have held my decision against me no matter how carefully I'd phrased it. 

Robin turned away to the door. “You have until midnight,” he added. “There's no fun in a deal without a deadline.”

He left before I could call him any of the names that were swirling across my mind, names that he had likely been called a thousand times before. I took a deep breath and set off back upstairs to find Holmes so that we could get this done with as quickly as possible.

****

Holmes and I were well-used to departing in haste and so were on a train headed for Penham well within the hour. Holmes sat back in his seat once we were on our way and regarded me in a way that said he was trying to integrate this latest information about me with all the rest that he had. I twitched under his gaze and looked out the window, trying to keep my composure as best I could.

“Would you like to hear the particulars?” he asked, when he finally spoke. “Or did Mr. Goodfellow fill you in as you showed him out?”

I shook my head. “We spoke of other things,” I said. “What did he say happened?”

“He explained that Miss Goodfellow is of the habit of going for long, solitary walks late at night. Two nights ago she failed to return. A thorough search of the country surrounding their home revealed no sign of her, other than a bracelet that he swore to me she would not lightly abandon or mislay.”

That would be the bracelet that marked Sebille as one of the Queen's favourites. Robin was right – it would not be possible for her to lose that unless she intended to or someone took it from her forcibly. I began to worry about Sebille as well as Holmes and hoped that this day would end with both in their rightful places; Sebille in the other realm and Holmes in Baker Street.

“He claimed that there were no signs of a struggle or any other clues at the place it was found, but of course, none of those searching have been trained in the art of observation.”

There would have been those among them that could see the spots on a ladybird from a distance of several miles, or count the feathers on a hawk as it hovered above the clouds, and all of them would be able to see dimensions that Holmes did not even know existed. Still, I thought there might well be signs that they would have passed over that might mean something to Holmes. They were notoriously dismissive of things belonging to the human world and those were the kind of things from which Holmes could read entire histories.

“I see,” I said. There were many things about this case that Holmes did not know and hopefully would never find out, but it was, at the core of it, a simple case of abduction. I felt sure that Holmes would be able to solve it as long as it remained on a mundane level, but if it delved into the shadowy realms that my mother's family inhabited, then I could do no more than my best to unravel it myself before midnight came and Robin stole Holmes away.

“Your family seems a trifle eccentric,” said Holmes with a delicacy he rarely bothered to use.

I snorted. “They're extremely odd, you mean,” I said. “Don't try and spare my feelings when discussing them. There is a reason I have avoided them for two decades.”

“Very well, then,” said Holmes. “I asked Mr. Goodfellow if he knew of anyone in the area who might want to harm his sister, or if she had any particular friends or connections that we might be able to gain a lead from, or even if she had a beau that she might have eloped with, and he gave me to understand that no one in the area is even aware that the family are there.”

That was because they weren't there. They lived everywhere and nowhere, coming through wherever their realm touched the human plane without giving thought to whether it was ten or a hundred miles from where they had last touched the earth. If Sebille chose to walk in that countryside on a regular basis, it did not mean that any of the others had been there in hundreds of years.

“That sounds about right,” I said. “They are extremely private people, and their home is well-hidden.”

“I see,” said Holmes. “But might she not have been meeting someone from the area on her excursions? It does seem to be an extremely singular habit for a young woman to have, wandering the countryside after dark.”

“She has been doing it for as long as I have known her,” I said, truthfully. She had been doing it for far longer than that, of course – centuries, if not millennia. “She enjoys her own company. And,” I added, “if she had been meeting someone, Robin would have known. He makes it his business to know everything.”

“So you believe, as he does, that this is an abduction?” asked Holmes.

I nodded firmly. “She would have returned if she could,” I said. Those who lived in the other realm were not able to move to the mortal world without suffering for it. I had watched that creeping pain first-hand and knew that Sebille would not have chosen to endure that. It was one of the many reasons I had refused to go with my mother's family for so long, knowing that once I left this world, I would only be able to return for brief visits.

“If she had wished to leave, she would have just done so without wasting time with subterfuge,” I added. “I do not think she would have, though. Sebille was always perfectly happy in her surroundings.” She had been mystified by my insistence that I wanted to live as a human, although she had at least respected it, unlike many of the others. That had been one of the reasons I had been fond of her.

“I see,” said Holmes. He was silent for a few moments, then gave me a searching look, and I knew that the questions about the case had come to end and the rest would be to satisfy his curiosity about my background. I prepared myself to lie with as much conviction as I could. “You are curiously informal with them,” he said. “I do not think I have ever heard you called by your Christian name.”

Names have power. Even my father had known that, and had taken care to give both me and my brother obscure middle names and then to bury all mention of them so that our full names could never be used as leverage against us. Robin and the others used my first name both in order to exert the power of familiarity over me and as a gesture of disdain for the father who had given me my surname. I used their first names in return because no surname they ever claimed to have would be a true one. No first name would either, but those came closer to describing who they were.

I could explain none of that to Holmes, of course, so I merely shrugged. “As you said, they are eccentric. And I have not seen them since I was much younger.” Less than five minutes alone with Robin had reminded me precisely why. I am not the kind of man who enjoys that level of teasing and ridicule, and the games that he played had only ever served to frustrate and irritate me.

Holmes made a thoughtful noise under his breath and glanced out of the window at the passing landscape. “We shall be there in an hour or so. If there is nothing else you can tell me which may shed light on the matter, I shall catch some sleep and be well-rested when we arrive.”

He let his eyes shut and leaned his head back, dropping off almost immediately. I could not find it in myself to doze and instead spent the journey watching Holmes sleep and hoping that this case would prove easy for him to solve so that we might be on a train home again extremely shortly. And that my secrets would not be thrust into the light while we were investigating it.

****

Robin had given Holmes directions to the spot where Sebille's bracelet had been found. After a brief conference with the railway porter, who assured us that it was no more than a couple of miles from the station, we set off for it. The sun from the morning had continued to shine into the afternoon and the first signs of spring had brought the birds out in full force to herald it. If it had not been for the threat hanging over Holmes's head, it would have been an extremely pleasant ramble down country lanes and through the woods. As it was, all I could hope for was to get to where we were going as swiftly as possible so that Holmes might set his great brain to work on the problem.

We found the place easily enough, next to a stile that crossed from a field into the woods. “It was found somewhere here,” said Holmes, casting his eye around as we crossed over the stile ourselves. “Of course, a couple of days have passed, so it is likely we will find nothing.”

He was already observing, hunting through the surrounding underbrush with his usual single-minded intensity. I thought of helping him, but knew that I was unlikely to spot anything that Holmes wouldn't. Instead, I concentrated on looking beyond the earthly world and into the place that I usually saw only out of the corner of my eye.

We were being watched, of course. I had been aware of eyes following us since we left the station, but only now that I was looking for them did I see the watchers themselves. I gave the nearest - a particularly mischievous-looking brownie - a glare, but he just bared his teeth at me in a malicious grin that made me scowl. I can't stand brownies; they're ghastly things.

“Ah,” said Holmes after a few minutes, and I allowed my sight to fade back to the purely terrestrial. He was bent over something that was buried in the bushes, struggling to pull it free. When he finally straightened up with it held in one hand, I saw that it was a snare such as might catch a rabbit.

“A hunter's trap,” I remarked, not sure what he might think the relevance of it might be. “There must be hundreds scattered around these woods.”

“A poacher's trap,” corrected Holmes. “One that was placed here roughly two nights ago, and yet has not been checked since, unless my observations of the terrain surrounding it are wrong.”

“Your observations are never wrong,” I reminded him. “But what of it? The poacher might simply have forgotten where he put it, or been detained by other things.”

“It is possible,” allowed Holmes. “However, it is rather too much of a coincidence, don't you think?” He examined the trap closely. “It is tied in a very peculiar way,” he said. “I suspect we might be able to learn much from it, if we took it to the right source.” He looked over at me and took in my appearance with a single glance. “Well, I might,” he said. “You are far too obviously respectable for the kind of men who would know about this kind of clandestine activity to open up in front of you.”

I couldn't prevent my laughter at that comment, for all I had been thinking about since the appearance of the Ring that morning had been how respectable I am not. There is nothing respectable about a man who can claim Robin as a relative, no matter how convoluted the lines that bind us.

“Very well, then,” I said. “I shall leave the information gathering to you. I shall content myself with a pint of ale and some food, I think. There was an inn not far from the station. I will be there once you have found your less-than-respectable information.”

Holmes nodded. “Very good.” He glanced up at the sky, which was beginning to fade towards dusk. “Engage us a room for the night, would you? The last train home is at eight, and I am not sure that even I will be able to solve this one by then.”

Worry choked off the remnants of my worth. “You will solve it tonight though, won't you?” I asked, thinking of Robin's deadline.

Holmes threw me a puzzled frown. “I shall try to,” he said. “You know as well as I do that detecting is not a business that runs to any particular timetable.”

Unfortunately, that was true. Still, I needed to make sure that Holmes understood the hurry with this one. “I just don't like the idea of Sebille being away from home another night.”

“I shall do the best that I can,” he said.

I nodded. I could ask no more than that.

Before we parted, a thought struck me. “You will not be using your real name in the course of your investigations, will you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It is unlikely. Sherlock Holmes is not the kind of name that fits in well with the kind of people I will be consulting.”

“It might be best not to reveal it to anyone,” I said, and my friend gave me a very surprised look. It was not often I offered him advice on any matters excepting those of my profession but Holmes had no obscure middle name to protect him, and although the power of a true name has less hold over humans, I was loath to let him spread his all over the countryside.

“You think I might be known here?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” I confessed. “But it might be for the best.”

The look he gave me was equal parts amused and perplexed, but he agreed, and that was all I wanted.

****

I spent an uneventful hour or so in the inn, eating pork chops and washing them down with some rather good ale whilst chatting with some of the locals. It might have been a rather pleasant evening, if my eye hadn't been constantly drawn to the ticking clock on the mantel. The hands were growing ever closer to midnight and I had no idea if we even had a promising avenue of investigation yet.

When Holmes finally came back in, I abandoned my companions with an abruptness that was impolite in order to rush to his side.

“How did it go?” I asked.

Holmes had altered his appearance in several small ways in order to look less respectable than he was and he set about returning himself to his usual fastidious presentation before replying.

“Well, I think,” he said eventually, just as I was beginning to lose the fight to restrain myself from shaking the man to get a response from him. “I have been given the names of two brothers and a cousin who are the only people around this way who are known to tie their traps in that particular manner.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Shall we go and visit them, then?”

Holmes glanced at the clock. “It's a little late to go knocking people up.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “Don't you want to see this investigation concluded?”

Holmes let out a quiet laugh. “That's usually my line,” he said. “Very well, then, let us go and disturb the good people of Penham. I daresay they won't be in bed just yet if they are accustomed to keep a poacher's hours.”

The occupants of the first house we visited, that of Matthew Hickman and his family, were still awake, but barely. As we spoke with Matthew about his whereabouts two nights before, two small faces emerged from behind the door of the bedroom, dressed for sleeping and clearly overcome with curiosity about the strangers at the door.

“I don't know where you got that I've been out in the woods at night from,” said Matthew, giving us both suspicious glares but lingering particularly on Holmes, “but it ain't right. I'm a family man – I can't go roaming off at all hours. Not anymore.”

“Indeed, I can see that,” said Holmes, touching the brim of his hat in the direction of the children, which made them squeak and instantly disappear. “We are sorry to have bothered you.”

Matthew's brother, Thomas, lived only a few cottages down and was equally unhelpful. He'd clearly just returned from the inn and was somewhat the worse for wear, a state with which he seemed well acquainted. I was reminded of my brother as he scowled at us for disturbing him and slurred insistently that the only place he had been on the night in question was the local inn.

“I think we can trust his word,” said Holmes as we walked away from his cottage. “Certainly he is not in any fit state to be holding a woman against her wishes, if she were determined to be free. I trust your cousin would be capable of overpowering a man that undone by drink.”

“Almost certainly,” I said. Even if Sebille had not possessed supernatural strength, she was a full-grown woman and Thomas Hickman had been so drunk as to be uncoordinated. Any woman with a bit of spirit would have been able to best him.

“Then we shall continue to the cousin's house,” said Holmes. He sent a darting look my way. “Watson, if we find nothing there, we shall have done all we can for the night. I can't investigate further without both daylight and the assistance of men who will very shortly be asleep, if they are not already.”

I pursed my lips, but nodded. “I know,” I said. We would reach midnight without any further hope of finding Sebille and Robin would come to sweep Holmes away with him, like he had so many other mortals before him, few of whom had ever been seen again. I already knew that I would follow Holmes – a decision that Robin would have foreseen, and that would have undoubtedly encouraged him. My mother's kin had been trying to bring my brother and me to live with them since her death and the campaign had only been stepped up once my father had died as well. I 'd joined the Army to escape it and gone as far from Britain's countryside as I could, and my brother had disappeared into a bottle. Neither route had served us particularly well.

Now that my brother was dead, I suppose I should have expected that they would come again for me, as the last survivor of my family. I had assumed that the stink and iron of London would protect me, but I should have known that they would find a way around that. After all, they have been tricking people into leaving the mortal world behind for longer than even folklore remembers.

We arrived at Bert Hickman's house as the moon started to rise above the treeline. I felt my gaze drawn to it and watched as the shadow of a bat crossed it. I would not normally have been able to see it at such a distance, much less the pixie riding on its back, but I had been associating with my mother's folk and treading their paths, and that had pulled the effects of her blood to the surface in me. Seeing the night-time world through eyes tainted by the other realm was an experience I had denied myself for so long that I found myself mesmerised by it.

“The lamp is still lit,” said Holmes, breaking my reverie and pulling me back to mundane matters. He nodded at a flickering light in the window. “He is at least awake.”

Holmes rapped hard on the door and there was a startled noise from inside. After a moment, Holmes knocked again, and there were a series of thumps before the door swung open.

“Do you know what time it is?” demanded a man I took to be Bert Hickman. He was short and rounded, and in almost every way a typical representative of his class of countryman, right to the handkerchief knotted around his neck.

Holmes checked his pocket watch. “It is 10.37,” he said, and then replaced it in his pocket. “Are you Bert Hickman?”

“I am,” said Hickman, his gaze travelling over us with a distinct lack of pleasure. “Who are you?”

“We are investigating the disappearance of a young lady,” said Holmes, side-stepping the question. “Might we come in?”

“Young lady?” repeated Hickman, then he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, aye, if you must. This better be quick.”

“We shall do our very best to make it so,” said Holmes. He stepped into the cottage and I followed behind, and the moment I crossed the threshold, I knew that we were in the right place. I turned to glance at the iron horseshoe nailed firmly above the door, and noted another mounted over the window. No wonder Robin had been unable to find this place.

“The young lady has been missing for two nights,” Holmes was saying. “The last sign of her presence was in a clearing that I have reason to believe you were in that night. I wondered if you had seen anything.”

“I ain't seen nothing,” said Hickman, too quickly for that to be true.

“It might not have seemed important at the time,” continued Holmes, and I started to look around, ignoring the rest of Holmes's 'even the most minor detail might help me' speech, which I had heard many times before. 

I knew Sebille must be hidden from us somewhere in the house. There was a set of rough stairs leading upwards, but there were no doors to the upper space, and I could see that there was nothing up there other than an untidy bed and an old trunk. The sitting room we were in was also furnished in a manner simple enough not to conceal any space large enough for a person. At the back of it was a door that must lead through to the kitchen. It was firmly shut and there was another horseshoe affixed to it. There.

I stepped forward whilst Holmes was still speaking, reassuring Hickman that we were not at all interested in what he might have been up to in the woods at that time, only in what he might have seen.

As my hand touched the doorknob, Hickman exclaimed, “Oi, stop there!” but I ignored him and threw the door open.

The kitchen was disappointingly empty and for a moment I wondered if I had been mistaken and that the horseshoes were just country superstition. One glance at the table in front of me drove doubt from my mind, however. On it rested a small jug of milk which had soured so completely as to have separated into its constituent parts.

Hickman grasped at my arm, pulling me back. “Get out of there!” he demanded.

I threw him off and strode through the room to another door, one that bore yet another horseshoe. This time when I opened it, Sebille was standing behind it, looking as out-of-place in the middle of a tiny pantry as a deer would walking down The Strand.

“John,” she greeted me, and inclined her head slightly.

“Ah,” said Holmes. “It would seem I no longer need your help with my enquiries, Mr. Hickman.”

I stepped back, opening the door wide to let Sebille out and keeping the horseshoe as far from her as I could. She walked to the centre of the room then stopped by the table, in the path of the moonlight from outside. She looked as ethereal as she was and I hoped that Holmes would see nothing about her that would pique his curiosity.

“You ain't taking her,” said Hickman. “She's staying with me now. She gave her word.”

I looked at Sebille. “Did you?” I asked. She nodded with a grave look, and I sighed. “In exchange for what?”

“The removal of an iron noose from around my ankle,” she said.

“A promise given under duress is no promise at all,” said Holmes. “We shall see you safely back to your brother.”

“Brother?” she asked, glancing at me for an explanation. Kinship ties between spirits like Sebille and Robin are a complicated business, and mortal words like 'brother' do not begin to describe them.

“Robin asked us to find you,” I said. “This is Mr. Holmes, the detective.”

“Ah,” she said, looking at him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a board. “The one you share rooms with.”

“Indeed,” said Holmes. “It is good to meet you, Miss Goodfellow.”

“It don't matter if he's the king of France,” interrupted Hickman. “You're staying with me.”

Sebille gave him a look of utter disdain, and then threw a glance at me. “I cannot leave.”

I nodded unhappily. My mother had given her word to my father under similar circumstances, and had stayed with him for nine long years, despite her desperate wish to be back with her own people. Once such a promise has been made, it is as binding as an iron chain.

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Holmes. “No one will think any less of you for breaking a promise made under such circumstances.”

“I am not interested in what people think of me,” said Sebille. “I cannot break my word.”

Holmes looked frustrated. “Really, Miss Goodfellow-”

“You were engaged to find me, am I correct?” she interrupted. “Well, you have done so. My family will be satisfied with that.”

“It is not a matter of your family's satisfaction,” said Holmes, his frustration at not being able to bring the case to a tidy conclusion flooding his voice. “I refuse to leave you in the hands of a blackguard like this.”

She shrugged and her gaze left Holmes to focus out of the window instead, on the orb of the moon. “It is not your choice,” she said.

The look on her face reminded me of my mother, of how she sat by the window and stared out at the world she had been denied. My father had grown increasingly paranoid and fearful over the years of my childhood, first forbidding her to leave the house alone, and then from leaving it at all. When I was six, he'd moved us to the centre of Edinburgh and kept her confined to a house that was bounded by an iron fence. She'd faded away and died within a year, and he'd still not been able to bring himself to let her go.

I looked at Hickman. “You must release her from her promise.”

He laughed. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because if you do not, she will eventually die,” I said. “And if that does not move you, I should point out that once we leave here, we shall go straight to tell her family where she is. Once they know where you are, you will not be able to hide from them again. They will harry you in every way they can, hounding you until your life is a misery. You clearly know the stories.”

I was very conscious of Holmes's presence in the room or I would have been more explicit and told Hickman of the days he would spend unable to tell what was real and what was not, the way his food would spoil and his belongings would break, and animals would turn on him with no provocation. My father's paranoia had not been born of nothing.

That seemed to have an impact on Hickman. He glanced at Sebille, looking torn.

“He is correct,” she said. “They will send you to the edge of madness.” She turned fully towards him and took a step forward. The moonlight lit her as she truly was, pale and tall, with fierce eyes that cut straight through the soul. “And I will always hate you, with every fibre of my being,” she added in a hiss that carried the shriek of a diving hawk in it.

Hickman went white. He glanced at Holmes and me, then nodded shakily. “All right,” he said. “All right, I release you.”

Sebille immediately turned on her heel and headed for the front door, not pausing to spare another moment on the wretch.

I hurried after her, not bothering to tell Hickman that he should expect some form of retribution anyway. He would find that out soon enough. Holmes followed behind me, silent in a way that meant he was turning over in his head everything that had just happened. I hoped that, for once, he would come to the wrong conclusions from the data available.

Sebille threw open the front door, then paused, glancing up at the horseshoe above it. I was steeling myself to remove it for her – it might discomfort me, but I am half mortal and it would affect me far less than it would her – but she drew her shoulders up and stepped through before I could. The pain it must have caused her was discernible only from the stuttered breath she drew in.

Outside, she strode a good distance from the house before stopping, putting distance between herself and the fate she had almost suffered. She turned to look at me once she had her feet buried in the grass at the side of the road.

“I owe you,” she said.

The automatic response of a gentleman, that it was nothing, sprang to my lips, but I did not voice it. Debts and favours amongst our folk are not the kind of things that can be waved away by good manners.

“You owe Holmes,” I said instead. “He was the one who found the house. And it was part of a deal with Robin, at any rate. You were not part of that.”

“A deal?” she repeated, glancing at Holmes and then back at me. “Ah. Nevertheless, I count myself in your debt. If you ever need assistance, you should not let your stubbornness prevent you from asking me for it.” She looked back at Holmes, including him in the conversation for the first time. I wondered if he had noticed that she was treating him as one might a small child who could not join in the adult's conversation and if so, what conclusions he was drawing from it. Most of my kin treated all mortals as such – good for a diversion, but not worth engaging with as equals.

“That extends to you as well,” she said to him.

“I was merely happy to extend my assistance,” said Holmes. “I should like to extend it further, and walk with you back to your home, but I'm afraid I'm not sure where it is.”

“It is better that you remain ignorant,” she said to him, then looked at me, dismissing Holmes in a way that I could tell irritated him. “You will need to see Robin,” she said.

I nodded. I needed to get him to announce the deal concluded with the rescue of Sebille and so prevent any chance of Holmes being taken away.

Sebille glanced overhead and the bat I had seen earlier flew over us, the pixie still clinging to its ears. He gave us a merry wave, then darted off. “Robin will meet us in a clearing in the woods,” she said. “This way.”

She set off walking without waiting for us, and Holmes and I followed.

“I see now why you were not surprised that she should be walking alone at night,” said Holmes to me. “She's very independently-minded, isn't she?”

I looked at him and found a smile. Sebille was safe, Robin no longer had any claim over Holmes, and it was not even midnight yet. I could relax and start to forget all the reminders of my childhood. “That's putting it lightly,” I said. “She doesn't bend for any reason.”

We walked through the woods, and in the presence of Sebille I saw even more of the fantastical world. Pixies and brownies followed us through the trees, chattering to each other and bounding ahead to let others know that Sebille was back, and that I was with her. At one point I saw a unicorn through the trees but it startled at the sight of Holmes and disappeared again. The moonlight tinted everything with silver and I was reminded of walks my brother and I had been taken on by my mother's family, before we moved to Edinburgh and my father shut that side of us away as securely as he could. I had forgotten that in addition to the spirits like Robin, who served only to infuriate me with their jokes and games, there were also those like Sebille. I had only ever met a handful of the many creatures who claim the other realm as their home and seeing all those who surrounded us as we walked, I found myself wondering if more of them were like insufferable like Robin, or worth getting to know, like Sebille.

There was so much to see that I had not seen in many years and I am afraid I became rather distracted. When we arrived at the clearing where Robin was standing in the middle, waiting for us, I had to sharply draw my senses in and force myself to focus on the present. I could not let Holmes make any more deals and I had to somehow keep as much about the situation hidden from him as I could. Holmes was a thoroughly modern gentleman, but even he would likely be averse to sharing his lodgings and his business with a man who had originated in a folktale. And even if he were not, his curiosity would likely lead him into all kinds of danger – the curious have ever been the favourite prey of creatures like Robin.

“Sebille,” said Robin, grinning wider than should have been comfortable. “How excellent to see you! And unharmed – better and better!” He turned his grin on Holmes and myself. “I must congratulate you on your speedy work.” There were other spirits waiting to greet Sebille in the trees behind him, several of whom I recognised, but they remained where they were, hidden from Holmes. They had grown increasingly wary of revealing themselves to mortals over the years.

“It was merely a case of following the obvious clues,” said Holmes.

“Of course, of course,” said Robin, rubbing his hands together. He seemed far too happy. I hoped that it was just that he had retrieved Sebille for the Queen and not that he had some nasty surprise in store.

“I am tired of this place,” Sebille said. “Let us go.”

“Yes, yes,” said Robin and he hopped from foot to foot in a way that made dread settle into my stomach. “There is one more piece of business.” He held out his hand to Holmes. “You are to come with us.”

Holmes took a step towards him as if pulled by an invisible thread and I turned to see the unmistakeable sign of starlight reflected in his eyes, his face blank and smoothed over.

“No!” I cried, taking a tight grip on Holmes's arm to keep him beside me and turning to glare at Robin. “He found Sebille; the deal is complete. You cannot take him.”

“Ah,” said Robin, jigging with excitement, “but that's not true. You were the one to pull aside the door to reveal her to plain sight. The deal was that Sherlock Holmes should find her, not John Watson. By the terms of our deal, he must accompany me to the other realm.” He leapt with excitement, looking for a moment precisely what he was; the most mischievous and tricky creature that has ever walked the earth. “I must thank you – you have enabled me to return Sebille to the Queen _and_ bring the King a new attendant to entertain him, and so gain both their favours.”

I was furious at the double-cross, although I should have suspected that it was coming. You cannot ever trust Robin. “I would not have been able to open that door if Holmes had not tracked down the house,” I pointed out. “He was responsible for finding her. You must know that is true.”

“The letter of the deal states that he had to be the one to find her,” said Robin. He gestured to Holmes again. “Come along. The other realm awaits you.”

“London awaits him,” I said, keeping my firm grip on Holmes to prevent him from going to Robin. I thought hard, trying to see a way out of this. “I will go, in his place,” I offered with desperation.

Robin's eyes lit up. “Ah, would you, then?” he said. “That would be something, bringing home the prodigal son. Of course, I strongly suspect that you will come anyway, if he is there. I could provide all three of you for the King and Queen, and be heaped with praise and honour.”

Of course he would have seen that I could not let Holmes go there alone. I glanced at Sebille. “Can you not help?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

She shook her head. “I am sorry,” she said. “You know we cannot change the terms of a deal once it is made, and he is correct. The credit for finding me goes to you, and so Sherlock Holmes must come with us.”

My mind darted around all I knew of the lore that bound such deals, looking for a loophole. It was with a sinking feeling that I realised there was only one way this could end without both Holmes and myself becoming unwilling residents of the other realm.

“I can claim no credit,” I said. “I was working as Holmes's assistant. Anything I did as such is attributable to him, not me.”

“Ah,” said Robin, his eyes lighting up as he realised what I was saying. “Are you sure? You renounce any claim on recognition and give all your deeds to Sherlock Holmes?”

I nodded with a dry mouth.

“John,” said Sebille. “Think about what you are doing.”

“I have thought,” I said, raising my chin. If I was to make this reckless and foolhardy move, then I would do it with certainty. “I am his assistant, and his biographer. All that I have done in those two roles has been in his name, to increase his prestige and fame. That includes finding you.”

“Do you even know what this will mean for you?” she asked. “Do not let my freedom be at the cost of your own.”

“I would lose my freedom in the other realm as well,” I pointed out. “And so would Holmes. I cannot let that happen.”

“You name yourself as his, then,” said Robin, raising an eyebrow.

“John, please,” said Sebille. There was desperation in her voice that was stronger than anything I had ever heard from her. “Think about this.”

I did think about it. The full weight of what I was doing was already creeping into my bones, tying me to Holmes, and I knew it was only going to get worse once I had fully declared myself to be his, and given up all the rights I had as a free creature.

On the other hand, I thought about leaving the mortal world behind and never knowing what it was to sit in my club, enjoying brandy and a cigar with the gentlemen there, or to dine at Claridge's, or to be whisked away from home at the drop of hat to investigate a crime. I thought about leaving the world of men behind, the world I had been so set on staying in that I had escaped every blandishment and trick that my mother's people had tried to get me to go with them, even back when I was a child growing up in a desperately unhappy house.

Mostly, though, I thought about Holmes and what he would become as one of the King's pets, treated as a source of entertainment and kept away from all the things that made him who he was: his cases, his violin, London. It would be intolerable for him, and equally intolerable for me to allow it.

I glanced at his face, still slack from the power Robin held over him, and knew that I had no choice in this. “I am sure. I am his.”

Sebille let out a quiet sigh, but did not speak. Robin's eyebrows raised so high as to nearly meet his hair and I could tell that he didn't know whether to be annoyed that he had lost two of his prizes, or exultant at the mess he had wrought.

“Is this true?” he said to Holmes. “Is John Watson yours?”

Holmes blinked a few times, and then his face creased into a frown. “I'm not sure-” he started, and I quickly interrupted.

“I am your assistant, am I not?” I said.

He still looked befuddled, but he nodded at that. “Of course you are,” he said. “You're an invaluable aid, on occasion.”

It was enough. I felt the contract sink into my being, binding me as his. It was an uncomfortable feeling of not being my own master, but I told myself that I would get used to it. It wasn't as if I wasn't already accustomed to following his lead and it was far better than the alternative.

“Then our deal is fulfilled,” said Robin. “You have found my sister. I shall ensure the money finds its way to you very soon.”

“Thank you,” said Holmes, still not sounding fully himself, but I could tell he was starting to come back and to wonder at what had just happened. If I was lucky, he would have very little memory of the period he had spent under Robin's glamour.

Robin cocked his head to one side as he looked at me. “I wager you'll find yourself wishing you'd just come home with us within a year.”

“It's not my home,” I said firmly. “This is where I belong.”

“For now,” agreed Sebille. “There will come a time, however, when this will not be enough for you. We will be waiting.”

I set my face as firmly as I could. “That will never happen,” I vowed.

She gave me a gentle smile. “Time passes, and things change.”

I merely gave her a scowl and she became more amused, then turned to Holmes with a serious expression. “Sherlock Holmes, make sure you take good care of John Watson.”

“I shall do my best,” said Holmes before I could stop him from agreeing to another contract, and one sealed with his name. I let out a quiet sigh, hoping that the phrasing and the lack of a stipulated forfeit for breaching it would save him from any negative consequences.

Holmes glanced at me, amusement layering over his confusion. “He's rather capable of looking after himself, though.”

Sebille glanced at me. “I'm not sure I would agree with that,” she said, then carefully bowed her head to us both. “Farewell John, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Goodbye,” I said with as much firmness as I could. 

Robin cackled at my tone, bouncing on his heels again. “Oh yes, goodbye, dearest John,” he said in a mocking voice. Sebille gave him a withering glance and they both left us, walking into the trees where I could see the other spirits and creatures cluster around them, welcoming Sebille back with excited voices like the ringing of many bells. I turned my head away and found Holmes regarding me with a frown that made discomfort slide over my skin in case he should see too much.

“Shall we find our beds?” I suggested, trying to bring matters back to a mundane level. “The innkeeper said that he would be awake to let us in until late.”

Holmes pulled himself out of his reverie and checked his pocket watch. “That sounds like an excellent plan,” he said. “The inn was this way, if I remember correctly.” He set off and I glanced back one last time to see the company strolling away together, heading into a glow of soft light where they disappeared.

“Come, Watson,” called Holmes, and the command pulled at me like a rope tied around my soul. I stepped forward before I had even registered the words, hurrying to Holmes's side. As we walked back through the woods and down country lanes, I told myself that I would learn how to resist his orders and that it was merely the newness of the compulsion that had made it so strong. I was only half-blooded, after all, and I had taught myself to resist many other aspects of my otherworldly nature.

****

A week later, I was ruminating on the same subject. We had been up late the previous night, chasing smugglers through Rotherhithe. The case, although lacking in the sorts of features that would make it worth writing up, had shown that I could resist the sorts of orders that Holmes issued without thinking, if I put my mind to it, but that commands barked out with any sort of strength compelled me before the thought of resistance had time to cross my mind.

I was contemplating whether or not I would be able to teach myself to ignore those as well, when Holmes spoke.

“The money from your cousin has been settled,” he said, glancing up from the post he was perusing. “You know, I would have waived the fee if you had appeared to like him more.”

I laughed at that. “He does tend to rub me up the wrong way,” I acknowledged.

“I could still send it back,” said Holmes. “You clearly like Miss Goodfellow well enough, and I would have happily helped you locate her without payment.”

“Robin gave his word that he would pay,” I said. “He will not accept the money back now.”

Holmes looked thoughtful at that. I had caught him watching me several times over the last week with the same expression and I knew he had been trying to make sense of the interactions he had observed between me and my kin. “They seem very strong on keeping promises,” he said.

“Their word is their bond,” I said.

Holmes nodded slowly. “And your word?” he asked. “Are you as bound by it as they are?”

I looked up at him, trying to see just what he meant by that question. There was a spark in his eyes that told me he knew more than he was saying and I felt my mouth go dry. “I think you know that I keep true to my promises,” I said. “As any gentleman should.”

He nodded, but I could see he was not entirely satisfied with that answer. “Of course,” he said, setting aside the post and standing. He walked over to the table on which Mrs. Hudson had placed a tea tray a few minutes before and I felt myself relax, assuming that he was letting the subject rest for now.

“Would you care for a cup?” he asked as he poured one for himself.

“Please,” I said, returning my attention to the newspaper I had been reading.

He brought it over to me and set it beside me, then returned to his own chair. When I reached for it, though, it wasn't a cup of tea that he had given me, it was one of pure milk. I stared at it for a moment, then glanced up at him, startled.

He was looking at me with a careful, almost anticipatory look that told me all I needed to about just how much he had concluded. This was not a test of a hypothesis, this was a test of my reaction.

I think that if he had said anything then, made any sign by word or look that he wanted me to drink, I would have thrown the cup at him and walked out, but all he did was watch me, making the choice entirely mine. After a long minute, I raised the cup and took a long draught and he relaxed, his face spreading into a smile of satisfaction – whether because of my implicit acknowledgement of the truth he had deduced, or because he knew that I was tying myself to him in yet another way, I still don't know.

We have never discussed it. Once, whilst searching for a missing child whose room had been liberally decorated with images of the wee folk, he took a close look at one of a tiny elfin boy perched on a thistle, then turned to me with a raised eyebrow and commented that the likeness wasn't very accurate, but I think that has been the only time that either of us have referred to the matter out loud. My reaction at the time probably put him off further comments, as I startled like a wild creature after a gunshot.

He did begin to ask things of me in the form of requests rather than orders, whenever he was not so caught up in the thrill of the chase that all such considerations fled from him. It made it easier for me to agree to all kinds of dangerous schemes without feeling as if I had no choice in the matter, but the truth was that I would never have let him go into danger alone, not even before I had declared myself to be his.

For a long time I hoped that he had no notion of just how the strong the geas binding both myself and all my deeds to him was, but I was unable to deny that he must have known once he returned to London in 1894. For him to be so cruel as to let me just walk away from the Reichenbach Falls and leave him when he knew he might well be going to his death, and then to leave me believing he was dead for three long years, he must have known that if I had had any idea, I would have abandoned my wife and followed him to the ends of the earth, through all and any danger. I cannot say whether it would have been the bond I had submitted to that would have driven me, or merely the strong friendship between us – over the years it has become increasingly difficult for me to separate the two when examining my motivations. I do know that I have never regretted putting myself into his service.

Several years have passed now since we moved away from London to Sussex. I had not realised until we did just how much the iron and stone of the city had begun to weigh me down. I felt like a new man within just a few weeks of living amongst the abundance of nature in our small corner of the English countryside. I find myself wandering through the wilder parts of the country surrounding us for longer and longer periods, watching it all through eyes that see more of the ethereal with every day that passes.

Once or twice, Sebille has joined me on my wanderings. We walk without speaking, silently sharing the same vision of the world, a thing I have not been able to do with another of the blood since I was a small boy.

“There is less to see now than there once was,” she said in a low voice a few nights ago, as we were preparing to part.

“Yes,” I agreed, because even I, who had kept my eyes tight shut against such sights for so long, could tell that fewer and fewer spirits lingered in the mortal world, and that those who did were dimmer and smaller than they had been. It seemed a shame that at a time when I finally found myself wanting to know my kin better, they were disappearing from the world around me.

“Man is changing the world,” she said. “His cities expand and his machines are everywhere. There is fast becoming no place for us.” She looked at me with a penetrating look that would not have been out-of-place on Holmes's face. “For any of us.”

I looked away, listening as a motorcar passed somewhere on the other side of the wood. “No,” I said, with a heavy voice.

I have clung to the mortal world for so long that it feels like a betrayal to admit that her words were right, but I can no longer deny that I do not feel I belong here. The Great War has come and gone, killing millions and turning so much to metal and mud, and I watched it as an outsider, wondering why the mortals felt such an urge for destruction. I had felt no kinship with them as they struggled and died, although I had done all I could to alleviate their suffering in the same way that one would for an animal who has foolishly wandered into a barbed wire fence.

Sebille was silent for a minute, staring up at the clouds crossing the moon. “I never asked you to come and live in the other realm when you were younger,” she said. “I knew you would not, and I understood why. You wanted to experience life as one of them, to be part of their world.”

“It was my world as well,” I said, thinking of being part of the bustle of London, of following Holmes on his cases and of the too-brief years with my wife.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You are a child of two worlds.”

A decade ago – even just a few years ago – I would have disputed that and told her that I had grown up in the mortal world, and it was all I knew or cared for, but now, as I looked out at the woods and watched an imp gathering bluebells and saw the fading glimmer of where a fairy revel had been held a great many years ago, I knew it to be true.

“Perhaps it is finally time for you to experience the other one,” she said.

For the first time, such a suggestion did not cause an automatic kick of refusal in my chest. I let myself actually think about what it would be like to pass through to the starlight and golden songs of my mother's world, and found the idea strangely soothing. In the same way that leaving the city had taken a burden I had not realised I was carrying from me, I thought that travelling to the other world would free me from the pressure of man's imposition of order on nature.

Still, a quiet voice spoke in my mind, reminding me of what awaited me at the cottage, of glasses of brandy and a good pipe, and a man to share both with. “I am still Holmes's vassal,” I said.

Sebille nodded. “That will not last forever.”

It was an uncomfortable reminder of just how old and tired Holmes has grown over the last few years, but I could not deny it. As brilliant and astounding as he is, Holmes is just a man, and prey to the same march of time that all men are. Time has had a different impact on me. Those who know us claim that I have aged extraordinarily well, but I know that if I did step from this world to the other, decades would fall from me like water from a duck. My mother's blood will see me live far longer than any man could hope to.

Another car engine cut through the night. Sebille winced, and then sighed. “I do not think I will be returning here,” she said. “Its charms have worn off for me.” She gave me that same perceptive look again. “I will see you in the other realm,” she said, and there wasn't even a hint of question about her voice.

I found myself nodding, albeit stiffly. “In a few years,” I acknowledged.

She smiled and walked away, passing under the gate that I now realise I will one day follow her through. Holmes will soon leave this world behind for good, and when he does, there will be nothing to keep me from walking into the golden glow of the other realm and being welcomed home by my kin.


End file.
